Garrett breathed in deeply letting the bittersweet aroma of coffee fill his lungs. It was his fifth cup of the day, and he planned on drinking another as soon as this meeting was over. It would be hell on his ulcer, but he had hours of studying ahead that would last well into the morning. Truthfully, he needed the distraction.

For over two weeks, the same image assaulted as he tried to sleep—his brother lying face up on his bed, an arm hanging off the side and rivulets of blood running down his fingers and onto the carpet. The knife he used to slit his wrists still clutched in his other hand, and held to his heart like it was his saving grace, which was utter bullshit. Garrett couldn't close his eyes without remembering the fear and desperation etched on Spencer's face. He cursed his brother for looking so afraid. He was the one who decided to take his own life. He was the one who chose to do it in his bedroom where he knew his family would find him. The least Spencer could have done was looked happy or content. Maybe then Garrett could convince himself it was okay. That Spencer was finally at peace.

But his brother wasn't. He died alone and in agony.

And the messed up part?

Garrett hated him for it.

So every night, he tossed and turned until he grew so frustrated he threw off his covers and put on his shoes. Mile after mile he ran until his legs were rubber, and his eyes refused to stay open. By the time he stumbled into bed, his alarm would go off, and he had to get ready for classes. It was a vicious cycle wrecking havoc on his life. He couldn't pitch worth shit, he was starting to get shin splints, and he kept getting called out by professors for napping during class. Plus, he had to study extra hard to make up all the lectures he was sleeping through.

He didn't know how much longer he could go on. He was worse off now than back when Spencer had died. He should have booked an appointment with his therapist, Dr. Shinn weeks ago when he first noticed the change but calling felt like admitting defeat. All the progress he'd made, all the months he spent...gone. He didn't want to start over. He wanted to move on.

But that wasn't quite right either. Moving on felt like a betrayal of the highest order. If he didn't mourn, if he didn't feel, then who would? Garrett wouldn't let his death be something he moved on from. So he was stuck. In between wanting to forget and to stay. In between loving the older brother who always had a nice thing to say, and hating the boy who took his own life. It was maddening, but Garrett didn't see a way out.

"Am I boring you, Saint?" Jordan barked from the front of the room.

Startled, Garrett blinked and looked up from his place on the couch. The whole baseball team was watching him and not in a good way. Most of them were pissed for having to spend a Tuesday night crammed in Jordan and Gus' tiny apartment.

"Sorry," Garrett mumbled. He couldn't have been the only one zoning out, but of course, Jordan picked on him and no one else. Gus noticed as well, raising an eyebrow, but kept his mouth shut which didn't surprise him. Gus was a follower. He never questioned or disobeyed even if he felt something was genuinely unfair. He hated conflict as well. Garrett had seen a guy directly cut in front of Gus as they were waiting in line for Star Wars tickets and Gus didn't say a word. However, when they got to the theater, Gus made sure he was sitting behind the guy, and every so often, he would kick the chair pretending it was an accident.

As Jordan went back to whatever the hell he was talking about, Garrett sipped his coffee, praying it would give him enough energy to last through the meeting. Hearing Jordan drone on was enough to put anyone to sleep. Maybe he should record Jordan and play it when he was in bed. He shuddered. Bad idea. He didn't want Jordan anywhere near his bed—nor anyone else's. His mood darkened as he remembered his first meditation class a couple of weeks ago. Jordan's snub hadn't bothered him—okay, maybe a little—but watching him chum it up with Arianne had jealousy gnawing at his stomach.

The ease in which they hugged and talked was too familiar like they'd done it a dozen times. When had they become friends? And more importantly, was something else between them? He rubbed his sternum as another pang shot through him. He wanted to be the one to hug and tease her. He wanted the right to hold her and listen as she recounted her day. He wanted to be the one she shared her problems with, the one she cried on when she couldn't hold it any longer. He wanted to be her everything.

Unable to stop himself, he opened the group text with Stephan and Marcus.

Garrett: Does Jordan have a gf?

Stephan, who sat next to him on the couch, cast a puzzled look. Garrett realized it was out of the blue, but he had to know. If Arianne was Jordan's girlfriend—

Shit.

He released the death grip on his cup and wiped the scalding coffee onto the pant leg of his jeans. Stephan appeared concerned, but Garrett waved him off.

Garrett: Does he?

Stephan: Don't think so. Why you want to know?

Relief hit him hard and fast. Garrett didn't know what he would've done if they were together, and that scared him. His feelings toward her were too strong. It's why he avoided her classes. He couldn't sit there and pretend she didn't mean something to him. Why and what precisely that was, well, that was a question he was still struggling to figure out.

Marcus: Maybe Saint wants to ask him to B-Bash

Garrett: Not funny. I was just wondering.

Stephan: Looks more than wondering to me. You got that homicidal rage thing happening.

Marcus: Uh-oh. Everyone scatter. The Devil Hulk is about to make his entrance.

Not this again. He got mad once—once—and the guys refused to let it go. Always teasing that he was either a saint or the devil depending on his temper.

Garrett: Saint Garrett is fully in charge. No need to worry.

Marcus: If Jordan does have a gf, she has to be an angel. No way anyone else would put up with all his flirting.

True. Girls flocked to Jordan, showering him with attention, and he shamelessly flirted back. To Jordan's credit, there was no discrimination on his part. He gave the same amount of attention to everyone. It's why he was so popular. Although, he supposed Jordan's Thor-like looks helped. His golden hair, bronzed skin, and toothy white smile put Chris Hemsworth to shame. He once heard a girl say she creamed her panties after Jordan smiled at her.

Self-conscious, Garrett ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling the gap between the two front. He hated that gap. It's why Garrett always smiled with his mouth closed. He'd begged his parents for braces, but they refused. Said they didn't want to spend the money when the rest of his teeth were perfect.

His family wasn't poor by any means, but they remained frugal. He'd seen his parents stuff money in the strangest places like empty food canisters or in old books no one read. And they were always looking for the best deal or only buying things that were on sale. He sensed it stemmed from his parents' time in foster care. They'd been so used to squirreling away money, they subconsciously did it as adults.

Stephan: You should go out with her, Garrett. An angel and a saint. Perfect match.

Garrett: According to you he doesn't have an angel. Do you know who he's asking to B-Bash?

Please don't be Arianne. It would kill him to see them dancing and laughing together.

Marcus: Worried he's gonna ask Harmony?

Garrett: I could care less about Harmony.

Stephan: But you care about Jordan??

Marcus: If this is about Jordan always ragging on you we can find some other way to get back at him than stealing his girl.

Garrett: What?! NO. It's not like that. And I thought you said he doesn't have a girl.

Marcus: He doesn't. Not that I know of. But...

When he didn't expand, Garrett glanced over his shoulder at Marcus who was busy typing on his phone in the kitchen. Marcus, as usual, had arrived late and was forced to find a spot in the way, way back. When a few minutes passed and still no response, Garrett texted:

Garrett: But what?

It took far too long for Marcus to respond. Suspicious, his gaze slid to Stephan whose thumbs were flying over the keyboard. Were they talking about him behind his back? He'd noticed a few odd looks here and there over the past couple of months, but had dismissed it as his overactive imagination. But then last week they'd been playing video games, and he'd excused himself to the bathroom. When he returned, he could hear them talking but as soon as he walked in they shut up. It'd been painfully obvious they'd been talking about him and really fucking awkward, so he left quickly afterward. He'd been ready for another awkward moment the next day, but they acted like normal and had even teased him about bailing early because he'd been losing so horribly. Maybe his suspicions were all in his head, and he needed to trust his friends.

Marcus: But I've noticed sometimes he gets real secretive about who he's on the phone with. He'll go into another room or shield the screen.

Garrett: Who is it?

Marcus: No clue but I was sitting next to him at dinner one time and someone named A texted him.

Dread washed over Garrett. A for Arianne?

Stephan: Like Pretty Little Liars? Dude, maybe he's being blackmailed.

Garrett: WTF is that?

Stephan: It's a TV show. All the girls love it.

Marcus: Of course you would know that. Have your cycles synced up yet?

Garrett grinned when Stephan scratched the back of his head, subtly giving Marcus the middle finger. Marcus responded with a bunch of eggplant emojis.

"Anything you want to share with the rest of us, Saint?" Jordan asked in a deceptively soft tone.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Why was it always him? "I'm good," he answered through gritted teeth. He wedged his phone between his thigh and the couch hoping Jordan would let it go.

Jordan clasped his hands behind his back. "No no, please. Clearly, you have something more important going on. Would hate to interrupt."

Garrett bit back the snarky retort on his tongue, refusing to be baited into whatever game Jordan was playing. Clamping his lips together, he shook his head and gave a serene expression. He swore he saw Jordan roll his eyes. Maybe he should punch Jordan and get it over with. It'd be better than this passive aggressive bullshit.

"Anyway, back to what we were talking about," Jordan said, giving Garrett a meaningful look before tapping the paper taped to the wall next to him. On one side was a list of party themes and on the other was a list of venues. Jordan circled several options. "These are the best ideas and places for B-Bash. They fit our budget and haven't been done before. Let's take a vote."

After the team had decided on a Great Gatsby theme, Jordan divvy-upped the jobs. He gave most of the work to the upperclassmen, so Garrett was surprised when he pointed to Stephan, Marcus, and himself. "You three Stooges find a DJ." He tore off a piece of paper and handed it to Stephan. "That's how much you have to work with. Don't go over and try not to mess this up."

When the meeting finally concluded, they shuffled out of the apartment and into the brisk winter air. The street lamps cast a warm orange hue over their faces giving his friends who were a lot paler than him a weird looking tan. "Look at this," Stephan said, flashing the paper to Garrett and Marcus.

Marcus let out a low whistle. "Damn. I knew B-Bash was a big deal, but I didn't know it was this big. How are we paying for this?"

"I heard it's leftover money they raised from last year." Stephan grinned, excitement mounting in his voice. "We should get a DJ that has lights and shit. Oooh and maybe a fog machine. I've always wanted to have a Thriller moment."

Worried, Garrett bit his lower lip. "Don't you guys think it's weird Jordan gave us a job when practically none of the other freshman got anything?" Or if they did, they were partnered up with upperclassmen.

Marcus shrugged. "It's probably just a coincidence."

Garrett had a hard time believing Jordan would accidentally do anything, especially where Garrett was concerned. Just the other day during practice, Jordan had timed his pitches so they were a few seconds ahead of Garrett's. Every time he hit his mark, he let out a loud whoop throwing Garrett off mid-throw.

Stephan chimed in, "It doesn't matter why Jordan gave it to us. All that matters is that we don't fuck it up. What kind of DJ should we get? I'm all about house music."

Marcus snorted. "It's not a rave."

Garrett started to zone out as Marcus and Stephan argued about music. All he wanted was his bed, but he knew the moment his head touched the pillow he wouldn't be able to sleep. Maybe he should try to score some sleeping pills from his roommate. Greg had connections to everyone. No doubt he could scrounge up a bottle.

"Garrett. Garrett!"

He felt a tug on his arm. Looking up, he blinked and Stephan's blurred face came into focus. "What?"

"You okay, man?" Stephan asked him, his gaze flickering to the dark smudges under Garrett's eyes.

"Just tired."

Stephan shared a look with Marcus. "You sure that's all?" The concern made Garrett twitch. Maybe he wasn't paranoid. Maybe this was a planned attack. Stephan went on, "You've been downing coffee like it's water. Isn't it bad for your ulcer?"

For the millionth time, Garrett cursed himself for telling them about his ulcer. He should never have gotten drunk that night during Homecoming Weekend. They knew the bare facts about Spencer and his death, but they'd been subtly prying more and more. He didn't want them to know the intimate details. Didn't want them to see the type of boy he'd been. "Business class is kicking my ass. You know how it is."

Marcus' lips thinned into a disapproving line. "But the semester just started."

His gut churned. "Yeah, I know. I can only imagine how the rest of the semester's going to be. Brutal, right?"

"Right," Stephan replied, his tone flat.

Garrett winced but kept his mouth shut. After all, what could he say? They didn't understand, and he wasn't willing to share. As they walked down the hill, Garrett pretended not to notice the looks they gave each other or the fact that they were walking ahead of him, excluding him from the group.

Sticking his hand in his pockets, Garrett wracked his brain for a safe topic, but it was as if his mind switched off. All he could think about was burrowing himself in his studies, so he didn't have to deal with the guilt and anxiety that plagued him.

It was Marcus who finally cut through the silence. He slowed, letting Garrett catch up. "Want to hang in my room? I have beer and that new Wii game we were talking about last week."

The thought of more awkward moments and questions had his ulcer flaring. He tried to act casual as he swung his bag around to search for a roll of antacids. "I wish I could, but I'm headed to the library." It was the truth, but it felt like an excuse, and he knew they picked up on it too when both of their bodies went rigid.

"Okay," Marcus said politely, eyeing the antacids. Garrett felt the judgment rolling off of him in waves and chose to ignore it. Marcus turned to Stephan. "You in or you gonna go watch chick flicks with the ladies?"

"What do you think?"

Marcus let out a hefty sigh as they paused at the main intersection on campus, blocking the sidewalk. Several people tossed them irritated frowns. "Fine, but don't complain to me when you get friend-zoned."

"That won't happen," Stephan replied, confidence pouring out of him. "Breakfast tomorrow?"

Garrett noticed the question directed at Marcus and only Marcus. He didn't wait for Marcus' response. Lifting a hand, he said, "I'll see you guys later."

Marcus called out to him, but Garrett hurried across the street. Call him a coward, but he didn't want to wait around while they made plans without him. Talk about humiliating.

He wished he could be normal again. Not this anxiety-ridden basket case who couldn't handle a simple question from his friends. Maybe it was better if he stopped hanging out with them. Then he could avoid the situation altogether.

Sighing, he checked his phone. Five missed calls from his mom and three texts demanding he call her back. He dialed her number. "Hey, Mom," he greeted when she picked up. He sat on an empty bench outside of the library. "What's up?"

"What's this about a plane ticket to Cancun?"

He knew that ticket was going to bite him in the ass. Last weekend, he'd been drinking with the baseball team, and a bunch of players convinced him to go to Cancun with them. He thought he'd have a little more time before she found out. "How did you know?"

"I checked your credit card bill. I thought you were coming home for Spring Break?" No, that's what she wanted him to do. He never said anything about going home.

"I'm in college now. Everyone goes away for Spring Break."

"Well, I'm not paying for it," she declared. "If you want to go off on some drunken college vacation you'll have to scrounge up the money on your own."

"That's fine." He had money saved up from summer jobs.

She seemed taken back by his response but quickly recovered. "Fine. If you want to spend all your hard earned money on booze and girls, then that's your choice but don't expect me to bail you out of jail."

"Jail, Mom? Really?"

"I've seen those shows. I know what happens."

He doubted it, but knowing her, she conjured up all sorts of scenarios involving drug dealers and orgies. "Don't you trust me?"

"I trusted that you would come home when you were able to but that's not happening is it?"

Guilt stabbed him. He was on a roll today. First, his friends, and now his mom. Maybe he should take out a billboard—Garrett Delko. Ruiner of Expectations. They couldn't be disappointed if they knew what was coming, right?

"Also, your father and I are doing some cleaning, and I was wondering if you want your baseball cards. If you do, I'll box them up and store them in the garage."

Garrett frowned, not liking the thought of rats and spiders getting into his collection. He'd worked hard for those, doing household chores and mowing neighbors' lawns until he could save enough money to buy them. "Can't you keep them in my closet?"

"We're converting your room into a craft room."

He must have heard her wrong. "I'm sorry. What?"

"We need the space. Your father has the den, and I can't keep working out of the living room. Marilyn Krantz came over the other day, and I couldn't even serve her coffee and cake. I had to take her out on the porch which was freezing." A fate worse than death according to his mother. She lived for decorum.

"Can't you set up shop in some other part of the house?" That was his room. Everything was in there—his baseball trophies, his books, his medals, shit even his dirty magazines were there. He paled at the thought of his mother stumbling across that pile.

"I can't. My shop is growing. I'm getting more and more orders every day."

He was happy for his mom's Etsy shop, he truly was. Her handcrafted jewelry was taking off, but why his room? Couldn't she set up shop in the garage or Spencer's—

No. Of course, not. The garage would be icy this time of year, and Spencer's room was off limits. No one had been inside since they removed the blood-stained carpet and boxed up all of Spencer's things. Everything was gone. Even his bed and furniture had been donated to a homeless shelter. However, the room remained unused. And that was the hell of it, wasn't it? Spencer may be dead, but his spirit was alive and chained to that room.

As much as he loved that house, he wished his parents would sell it. There were too many memories attached. Christmas' spent in front of the fireplace. Water balloon fights in the backyard. Dinners eaten around the dining room table. They would never have that again, and it only served as a reminder of what they lost. More importantly, of what they gave up. No one fought for Spencer. Not even his own brother.

His chest burned with shame. How could he expect to be a better person when he was still acting like a selfish prick? "Okay, Mom. You can have my room."

She paused. "It's still your room, Garrett." Her voice was soft, soothing. "I'm just using it when you're not here, okay?" She waited until he agreed before asking, "How's your day been? Are you studying?"

"I'm outside the library right now. I'll head in after."

"Good. And how's your pitching?"

His mouth went dry. "It's going great."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"The truth, Garrett."

He winced. It was the same tone she used when he and Spencer would get into a fight and blame each other. "I'm telling you the truth. I swear. A few hiccups I need to iron out, but there's no need to panic. I got this." At least, he hoped he did. Lately, neither coach had been happy with him because more often than not, his pitches had been off the mark. Stephan complained his thighs were getting a workout from all the squats he had to jump out of as he reached for a wild ball.

"I'm going to call Dr. Shinn and set up an appointment. It sounds like you need help."

A thread of irritation weaved through him. "I got it covered, Mom."

"I don't think you do. I told you it was a bad idea to move so far away. If you'd stayed locally, we could have kept a better eye on you. Not let things get so out of hand." The argument was an old one, pulled out whenever the slightest thing went wrong.

"It's not of hand. I have everything under control," he insisted, but she was already looking up the therapist's number. That's the thing with his mom. There was no in-between for her. Spencer used to be like that too. He felt every emotion to the extreme. Drove Garrett insane. Funny how the qualities he used to hate in his brother, had become the most cherished.

"I'll book you an appointment and then figure out the plane schedule. You'll have to catch a ride to the airport. Do you know someone with a car? Or I suppose you could take a taxi though that would be more expensive."

"I love you, but I'm not flying home for a therapy session. I can do it over the phone."

"But—"

"I'll call Dr. Shinn and set up a phone session, okay? I promise."

He could hear her worry vibrating through the phone. "This is serious, Garrett."

Blood drained out of his face as he had flashbacks of Spencer saying the same thing right after he admitted to being in love with his best friend. Garrett had laughed, thinking his old brother was kidding, but the seriousness and hurt on Spencer's face had shut him up.

Suddenly, Garrett had trouble breathing. "I should get back to studying. I have a mountain of homework I need to get through. Call you later, yeah?"

Hanging up, Garrett dropped his head to his knees and took measured breaths. If only he had handled things better. He'd been so immature back then. A cocky kid who thought nothing could touch him. How quickly he learned that death could penetrate anything and even the tiniest action could stain a soul.

I'm so sorry, Spencer. I'm so goddamn sorry.

If you like this story, please don't forget to vote and comment. I love hearing what you guys think about the characters and plot. Do you think it's wrong of Garrett to not tell his friends about his past? Do you think it's wrong of his friends to push him into telling when he clearly doesn't want to?

*Bonus Content* Dr. Shinn is actually a nod to one of my favorite underrated authors. Want to know who it is? Find out on my FB author page! (DoNotMicrowaveX) https://www.facebook.com/DoNotMicrowaveX/